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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371303">Water Lily</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilyaBeeodess/pseuds/SilyaBeeodess'>SilyaBeeodess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clocks and Spirits [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Hat in Time (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:22:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilyaBeeodess/pseuds/SilyaBeeodess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Vanessa's wrath didn't end with her prince.  Although finding herself planted in an unforgiving circumstance, one trampled flower blooms in adversity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clocks and Spirits [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A storm was brewing.</p><p>Call it the nature girl in her, but she just knew.  There was something in the air that nipped at the back of her neck and chilled her from the inside.  She’d had to close up shop early, pack her flowers inside her home, and cover her small garden for protection.  By evening’s arrival, she’d settled down from her work and begun preparing supper.</p><p>It’d been a fruitful day, so she didn’t mind the break or the weather.  Summers always kept her busy as it was: Tending to the garden, creating all sorts of arrangements from table centerpieces to chimney flowers, and prepping flowers for dried bouquets.  Sometimes, she wished there were more florists than just her and a handful of hobbyists to handle the workload, but then again, the pay was good and she wouldn’t know what to do with herself for those additional, free hours.  Born and raised in her field like so many others, her work was her life. </p><p>Squatting down in front of the hearth, she checked the delicate blossoms arranged in her bough pot. They’d started to wilt, but at least they’d lasted this long.  Fire spirits could mistake them for snacks whenever they wandered inside the homes of Dwellers, so it wasn’t uncommon to wake up singed stems instead of lush blooms.  Thankfully, she had a few deterrents to keep her flowers safe, like the twin biotope planters placed near the entrances to her home.</p><p>The scent of a thick, stewing broth tickled her nose.  She only wanted to make something quick and simple to fight off the evening’s rapid, unusual chill.  It had arrived quick, but she didn’t imagine it would last long into the night.  She hoped the prince made it home alright: He’d bought some flowers from her earlier to surprise Queen Vanessa with, and it was a decent walk from her manor to his family’s palace.</p><p>Then again, it had been months since he’d gone to law school and the two lovers had seen each other.  It wouldn’t have surprised the Florist to learn that he’d spent the night.  An amused grin tugged at her mouth.  The nobles really were perfect for together, like something out of a fairytale. </p><p>The people of Subcon Forest had a lot of hope for the pair, herself included.  Their tiny kingdom had thrived in the past decades under their parents, and their marriage would officially unite the Dwellers under one banner.  The new era just ahead seemed to be one full of growth and confidence for the small community, one of peace throughout the woods and strong relations with their neighbors.</p><p><em>Maybe I should take an apprentice… </em>the Florist wondered.  It wouldn’t hurt to have the company, and it’d be a simple way to ensure her business continued if she never settled down herself.  After all, she had to think of her own future too.   </p><p>A knock at the door cut through her thoughts.  Her fingers ran subconsciously through the long tresses of her hair, which had already fallen out of the loose braid she normally kept it in.  Opening the front door, she was surprised to see two members of the Queen’s guard standing on her doorstep against a harsh wind and dark sky.  Even as a little girl, she’d known them to be an unknown, intimidating sort.  Armored, hulking figures with faceless helmets, they conducted their work with brutal and rigid efficiency.  Their vetting process was supposedly difficult to an extreme.  She had friends who tried—and failed—to get join their ranks with plenty of stories about their harsh training.  Only one had gotten in and they hadn’t been the same since.</p><p>They were the village’s fierce protectors, but there was one thing they demanded without compromise: Loyalty.</p><p>The Florist was so used to them—looming at street corners or near the gates of the manor—that suspicion about what that kind of loyalty entailed never crossed her mind.  They had always served the crown and its people dutifully, a silent force striking down their foes with acute precision.  That’s why it was so surprising when a gloved hand tore her from her home by her wrist in a painful hold.  A folded cloth was shoved over her nose and mouth before she could cry out, and her eyes went wide at the strange, but powerful scent that assaulted her.  Her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening all while it was swiftly devoured by whatever narcotic they used against her.</p><p>“Her Highness,” came the cold, empty monotone behind one of the helmets, “sends her regards.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even with the harsh feeling of her body dropped to the ground, she woke up in a daze.  The Florist’s conscious remained so muddied that she didn’t fully register the cords that were tightly wound around her hands and feet until after the fact.  Soon enough though, the fog hanging over her mind lifted to reveal the dark canopy of Subcon’s old trees above her, covered in thick blankets of moss that draped down from their branches like the tattered banners of an ancient battlefield.  The steady groan of frogs and insects echoed all around her, and the air felt cool and stale. </p><p>Her heart leapt in her throat.  Although she never dared travel so far into the forest herself, she knew where they were: It was the swamp.  The woods were a beautiful and mysterious places home to many spirits, but also many dangers.  Over the course of generations, the Dwellers had made peace with the bulk of the supernatural neighbors… except those that dominated the swamp.  Those, they had fought for territory with for years until reaching an uneasy ceasefire that had nevertheless demanded fierce protection over each of their own borders.  The swamp spirits did not take kindly to trespassers. </p><p>For a moment, that one worry weighed over the countless others pressing on her frantic mind.  Arms behind her back, she rose in place to shout at the guardsmen, “What are you doing?! Why did you bring me here?”    </p><p>Her words caught in her throat at the sight of the rock being strapped to her ankles and how dangerously close she was to the water’s edge.  If was any normal wetland, it wouldn’t concern her, but Subcon’s swamp had various pitfalls where its spirits dragged unsuspecting victims into the depths of their realm.  Even if disturbing the surface of the water didn’t alert the spirits, one could easily tread in knee-deep water only to suddenly plunge to their demise.</p><p>The guardsmen didn’t seem to want to take any chances on her survival.</p><p> The wind had grown stronger and the sky even darker since they’d taken her from her home.  The forest was silent and they were too far in for her to see the warm, distant lights of the village.  As she had sat up, the guards lifted their gazes from their task to her face, returning her bewildered and horrified expression with twin, blank stares behind their helmets—as thought merely registering her presence before returning to their grim work.</p><p>“What are you doing...?” she asked again, only now in a small croaked voice as fear gripped her.  They didn’t answer, not that it would matter as her voice then rose to a scream and she kicked out with all her might.  “<em>What are you doing?! Let go of me!”</em></p><p>It was amazing, the strength that only sheer terror could give a person.  Even for all of their training, it took both guardsmen to hold her down as she desperately fought to escape.  She managed to kick out hard enough to knock the helmet off of one of them; however, the face beneath it was just as blank.  It held no emotion beyond meager frustration, colder than stone and in a manner that seemed almost possessed.</p><p>Then she was shoved into the water.  Here, the ground sloped, so the horror of the moment was long and drawn out as the rock gradually rolled down to pull her deeper and deeper in with a thick haze of grime spiraling around her as she continued to screamed and try to thrash out of her bonds without success.  Although her fate inched on slowly, there seemed to be no time to demand why they were doing this or what crime she had committed to deserve it.</p><p>Keeping her head up above the water took enough effort that when she felt something large and muscular ram against her side, she barely paid it much attention.  She didn’t have to wonder what was in the water with her as a mob of amalgamations of sludge launched above the surface and swarmed around the guardsmen.  Eyes wide, she watched as the pair tried to fight them off, but were overwhelmed.  A long, fishlike tail with four lobes attached to its caudal fin ensnared one of them around the waist.</p><p>Her vision became clouded after that, as she went under and the world became a confusing haze of shapes and sounds while she fought to keep her breath.  The underwater waste hurt her eyes and she squeezed them shut, but not before spotting the swift blurs of dark figures vaulting around her.  Something heavy—most likely one of the guardsmen—broke through the surface of the swamp with a loud eruption of bubbles.  There was no sense to the madness of motion that surrounded her as the two sides fought through the mire and she fought for her life. </p><p>Her lungs burned.  Soon came that involuntarily breath and her conscious began to fail her once more.  Her felt more like fire than water, attacking her from the inside, and she went in spasms.</p><p>Then, soon enough, there was nothing.  No sound, no movement, no pain.  The swamp had gone silent, claiming its victims and leaving behind only vague feelings. </p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>Why did this happen?</p><p>Why did they do this?</p><p>The depths she had fallen into were scarier and lonelier than she had ever imagined.  There was no peace: Only confusion, despair, and rage as she asked herself the same questions over and over.  Those feelings were all she had to stable her in the weightlessness that consumed her.  At least until one more feeling—that which she could only describe as a <em>presence—</em>drew near.  It seemed just watch her for a moment, then prod at her immobile form.  Eventually, to the sound of churning waters, it took her, down, down to some unknown place where the broken body she clung to wasn’t needed.        </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’ve brought me a corpse.”</p><p>The voices that invaded her thoughts seemed distant and distorted, but she could still make out the words.  It felt wrong—everything was so <em>wrong!</em>  She could hear, but that was about the only one of her senses that remained.  Her world was dark, and she seemed to be lost within a never-ending void.  Like before, all that kept her from slipping into the abyss were her own, pitch black feelings.  All that kept her sane was the keen awareness that she wasn’t alone.</p><p>There were more of them now.  The Florist didn’t understand how she knew, but she did.  Disembodied beings all gathered around a powerful aura that overshadowed them all.  This was where the first voice came from, a masculine rumble that carried both an air of authority and disgust.  “Any sensible creature would’ve left it for the crayfish, but I’m sure you have your reasons for allowing this… impurity, into my hall.”   </p><p>“The Dweller lingers,” came the reply.</p><p>The strong presence seemed to draw closer.  It appeared to examine her carefully for a long, quiet moment, then hummed in a way that almost sounded a little impressed, “So it does.  This is a curious age we live in.  The other two?”</p><p>“Disposed of.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>By ‘other two,’ the Florist could only assume they meant the guard.  They talked about death in a way no less casual than a merchant tossing away so much wasted goods.  Nevertheless, she didn’t feel like she could condemn them.  At the moment, any compassion that she might’ve felt for the brutal killing that took place right before her eyes was erased by the anguish of her own cold and senseless murder.</p><p>“What shall I do with this one’s remains?”</p><p>There was a pause before the latter answered, “Admittedly, there isn’t much we can do.  Once it adjusts, however, the soul should leave the body in its own time.  For now, contain it—preferably, someplace out of sight.”</p><p>It took her a long while to understand what that fully meant.  After the voices stopped and the feeling of close proximity to other creatures ebbed came the clatter of stone and an unrelenting loneliness.  Her body may have fallen into an eternal slumber, but her mind stayed alert in the silent vacuum that consumed her.  She could do nothing, felt nothing, left instead to stew in her anger and mourn her own loss.  Her death repeated itself over and over again, torturing her.  All the while, the same question kept coming back to her.</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>She’d never hurt anyone, had never committed a crime in her life.  As far as she knew, no one held any kind of grudge against her: She was friendly with her neighbors and never had any trouble with her customers.  She had wanted nothing but to continue her family business and see her community grow.</p><p>This was wrong.  So wrong, in fact, that for a while she tried to reason against what had happened.  After all, it couldn’t be real—she couldn’t be dead!  Her thoughts were so clear and this void was no kind of afterlife! </p><p>But it was a nightmare she didn’t wake up from.  It dragged on, and on, and <em>on </em>so much that she wanted to scream—but her voice wouldn’t let her!  She wanted to kick and cry, break through whatever barrier was keeping her trapped here!  Although she could see nothing, the blank faces of her killers faded into her thoughts.  She wanted to lash out at them, but they were already gone—a retribution that <em>belonged to her </em>cruelly denied!</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>This was wrong, wrong<em>, wrong!  </em>Even with her killers’ death, she still wanted justice!  No, she wanted peace of mind!  She wanted to know if there was anyone out there looking for her, worried about her.  Someone in town <em>had</em> to notice she was missing.  There had to be someone fighting for her sake, trying to discover her fate.</p><p>But how would they know?  There would’ve been no sign of a struggle and the swamp had swallowed her whole.  Even if anyone else dared tread there, no one would be able to find her...</p><p>The pain had gone, but it still hurt so much.  She was so tired.  The abyss called to her, beckoning her deeper into its embrace.  It was a warm feeling, like it was trying to guide her somewhere she was always meant to be.  It promised the peace she so craved. </p><p>However, she demanded answers and scratched at the scabs on her wounds, unsatisfied. </p><p>She didn’t relinquish her hurt, but she accepted the void.  Only then did the void let her go.      </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world she awoke to was a murky palette of deep blues, greens, and violets.  Everything around the Florist seemed to be blanketed in a thick haze, making it difficult to see beyond a few meters in front of her.  Even then, there were obstacles obstructing her view further: Porous rock formations, clouds of moss, long stalks of some kind of billowing plant that coiled up from the ground and stretched skyward well-beyond her sight, and craggily branches—no, roots—that clustered together seemingly from nowhere.</p><p>She didn’t look behind her.  Somehow, she knew if she did, she wouldn’t like whatever was there.</p><p>Some of the roots were fashioned around her like a kind of cage, engraved with markings that she couldn’t make sense of.  She reached out to them and froze.  For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, she could move, but she didn’t <em>see</em> herself do anything.  It was like trying to manipulate thin air.  She shuffled forward only for a bright, almost electric light to surface from the now glowing marks and repel her back with a surprised cry.</p><p><em>What is this place…?</em>  That was a stupid question: She knew exactly where she’d been dragged off to.  She could only be in the swamp spirits’ domain.  Given the state of the underwater realm, the Florist wondered if she was the only human to ever see it.  If she was, she didn’t exactly consider herself lucky for it.</p><p>She didn’t have to question long where the spirits themselves were.  As if called to the disturbance, a lithe figure appeared from the gloom.  Every depiction she’d seen of the swamp spirits growing up had shown them to be nothing short of grotesque: Mottled skin covered in grime; matted hair; long, webbed fingers; and a pair of gangly legs.  That was on land.  Now, in the water, she actually thought they seemed fairly beautiful.  The female that glided in front of her had a long tail more ell-like than fish-like, but had the same caudal fin with four lobes she’d seen before.  Her long hair fluttered around her in a dreamlike manner, and a small pair of horns curved around her skull from her temples like a strange headdress above pectoral fins that replaced human ears.  A single, horizontal stripe across her nose and cheeks.</p><p>She stared at the Florist for a moment, then suddenly took off—just one beat of her fin enough to propel her out of sight in seconds.  The Florist called out to her, momentarily forgetting about the cage in her flustered outburst, “W-wait!  Please!  Just tell me what you want with me!”</p><p>Her cry was ignored, just like it had been with the guardsmen.  Unlike with the latter though, it didn’t shock her.  Their two species had rarely seen eye-to-eye.  Even as an <em>unwilling </em>trespasser, she didn’t expect forgiveness. </p><p>Then again, she didn’t expect the spirit to come back either—if only for a moment, with another member of her kind following at a close pace.  Immediately, the Florist felt something familiar about him, that powerful aura that had invaded her thoughts in the void.  While still mottled, his skin of varying shades of violet was clearer than others.  Finlets ran down his spine and tail, and decorated his shoulders like epaulettes.  Like the female’s, his hair was long, but instead sleekly pulled back.  His branching horns were long with subtle rings and two additional points near the base.  Twin markings shadowed his eyes in a way similar to a skull.</p><p>A disgusted sneer crossed his face as he momentarily glanced behind her, but he quickly recovered a regal air.  Even without an introduction, the Florist knew he was the one in charge.  She stayed silent and held her ground at his approach. </p><p>While the first swamp spirit departed, he muttered something under his breath and motioned toward the Florist with a light, backward wave of his hand.  She flinched, curling around herself as the engravings tore themselves apart in an eruption of bubbles and the roots that enveloped her opened up like the gnarled hands of some fierce beast.  “Took you long enough,” he huffed in the same voice she’d heard before, “I was starting to believe that you’d changed your mind and chosen to depart, but here you are.”</p><p>She didn’t immediately reply.</p><p>“Who are you, Dweller?  Can you talk?”</p><p>She took another glance at the roots, then at their surroundings.  Even if she was fast enough to escape, where would she go?  This was a spirit realm, and their boundaries were made to let only those chosen move in and out freely. </p><p>When she kept silent, the swamp spirit sighed and shook his head in a condescending way.  “You can’t say I didn’t try to be amiable… Let’s get right to the point then!” Here, even thought he bit it back, there was still a noticeable tinge of anger in his words, “Would you care to explain why, only after you turned up, our waters were frozen over for weeks? Why our harvests were devastated, and the forest itself transformed into an icy wasteland?”</p><p>Again, she said nothing.  None of what he said made any sense to her, but, more than that—after all she’d already been through—the accusation in his tone only ground salt into her still festering wounds. </p><p>“No?  Alright, maybe it would interest you then that even your own home wasn’t spared.  My people hunted yours down across the surface and found nothing but the ice and snow your queen left behind,” he spat, “So what happened then?  A rift between allies?  An assassination?  A coup?  Or did that spoiled, little brat simply not get her way for once in her life?”</p><p>The news was sudden and merciless.  The village destroyed, everyone dead… It was too much to take in all at once and she couldn’t even imagine it.  The blame he cast on her though was what sat with her enough to through her over the edge.  She returned his stare with a harsh look of he own.</p><p>“I was murdered…” the words came out in a hard whisper before she repeated them in an enraged, defensive shout, “<em>I was murdered!”</em></p><p>“Yes, by the <em>queen’s </em>guard,” he gave her so sympathy. “Your woodwards may be adept, but I know well that<em> those</em> soldiers can barely retain their senses.  Don’t be fool enough to think that your death doesn’t go further—to the queen herself!”</p><p>“You lie!” she shouted back.  However, deep down, something clicked. </p><p>It was true that her guard obeyed no one else.  However, the Florist had never faced any ill with Queen Vanessa or even believed the other woman had registered her existence as often as she walked through the town.  Besides, other things didn’t line up in his story.  Some humans could learn magic, yes, but she’d never heard of the queen or anyone in her family using it.  And she couldn’t imagine anything setting Vanessa off in such a way.  She was always a happy, lovestruck girl and the day the Florist died, with the Prince’s return, she should’ve been ecstatic.</p><p><em>The Prince!</em> “Our prince!  He’d never let anything like what you’ve just said happened!”     </p><p>The swamp spirit raised an impatient brow, his voice dropping dangerously low, “Did you not hear me?  There’s no one left.  Any Dweller that didn’t abandon the forest is dead.  That includes your young prince.”  His expression then turned to a conspiratorial grin.  “Or maybe he’s with the queen!  I wouldn’t call the idiot heartless, but I wouldn’t dismiss it if he were still by her side.”</p><p>Every word of his only angered her further, “You don’t know anything!”</p><p>He turned her insult against her, “No, sadly, <em>you</em> don’t.  You’re useless, which begs the question, ‘what am I to do with you?’”</p><p>All at once, fury was washed away by fear.  Rationally, what could he do to her?  Even if she still didn’t like thinking about it, she was already dead.  Nevertheless, spiritual forces weren’t to be underestimated.  She watched carefully as he raised a hand again, fuchsia magic radiating in his grasp. </p><p>“Admittedly, I don’t usually take much interest in you Dwellers,” he continued, “On the rare occasion that one of you does get stuck down here, we often just seal you away.  You’re so pitifully weak though.  Still, we can fix that…”</p><p>He reached out to her with his hand upturned.</p><p>“Mortal souls can linger for all kinds of reasons.  Given your… <em>unseemly end</em>, I can only imagine what yours are.  It intrigues me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took years to earn some semblance of respect from them, but, somehow, she managed it.</p><p>Granted, she was almost certain she was viewed as nothing more than a pet for a good few of those years. The swamp spirits had kept her on a short leash, restricting her to the deep, undersea halls of their chief’s house and monitoring her constantly.  They didn’t even try to hide it.  Overtime though, disdain and distrust had turned to immature bullying and then a form of odd acceptance within their ranks.</p><p>Even if the Florist wanted to claim to be one of them though, she still couldn’t.  She’d grown stronger since her death, in no small part thanks to the magic that infused into the fibers of her being.  That had come with drastic changes.  Her once verdant, spectral form had materialized into an eel-like body even more than the swamp spirits themselves—sharing their largely violet, mottled skin and long hair; lacking their fins and horns; and only regaining a subtle, ghostly translucence when she was out of the water.  She was one with the swamp, but still visibly distinct thanks to her human origins.  Besides that, she still was the soul of a Dweller.</p><p>She had Thane Fen, the ruler of the swamp, to thank for the physical changes.  Thane was his official title—given in treaty between the Dwellers of old—but although the swamp spirits had no such word for an official leader, it was clear that they treated him as highly as a king.  He was a strong and capable head, guiding by stern reason while ruthless to their enemies.  That’s why it was so ill-met when he’d offered the mortal woman a sample of his own power to start with, but no one had the nerve to really argue it.  It was just accepted that he had his reasons for letting a human ‘run wild’ through their domain.</p><p>Those reasons?  Curiosity tangled with a shared desire for retribution, at least in his eyes.  They despised the Dwellers: She’d been betrayed by them.  It made sense to have an in with the enemy, especially given their plans in the days that followed after Vanessa’ s storm.  The devastation to Subcon Forest not only destroyed her village, but bled into the various spirits’ territories as well.  Those that merely lived in the forest itself were mostly chased out and replaced by far more dangerous creatures.  Those with their own boundaries, with realms <em>tied </em>to the woods, had to reshape them. </p><p>That meant a war for land across all of Subcon, against forces new and old.  The fire spirits moved their burning forest further in, devouring many of the treehouses the woodwards had called home and the old bell-tower.  The intruders—spirits that came to Subcon to feed off of its newly born miasmic atmosphere—had the hardest time of it: Still, the spiders managed to section off a tiny piece of the woods to themselves and litter it with thick webs.  The swamp spirits had wanted more and, for short time, had taken a ton of ground for themselves, manipulating the once beautiful woodlands into a dense bog.</p><p>That was before the Shadow came along, or ‘the Snatcher’ as many mortals called to him.  It was impossible to tell what kind of spirit he was, but he’d merged his own being with the miasmic forest and completely taken over.  Not only did he push the bulk of the spirits back, but he’d claimed a place for himself among the deceased Dwellers that remained as their ruler.  Thus, the swamp spirits had been regulated to only a piece of their old turf and what had used to be a fishing lake.</p><p>At least they were close enough to the old civilization that they’d managed to keep access to some of the underground pipes.  However, having an outsider—of all things—best them so easily was insulting.  The Florist hated the Snatcher too, but to be honest, she didn’t know which was the bigger threat to her people: Him or the swamp spirits.  Just because she stayed with the latter didn’t mean she wanted her own to get hurt.  Those ghosts were just as much victims in all of this as she was.</p><p>It was the nobles that were to blame: The queen and her psychotic massacre, and the prince and his lack of diligence to his subjects.  The Florist had denied it for a long while, but she knew that now.</p><p>When the swamp spirits had finally given her enough freedom to go to the surface, she’d wanted to see things for herself.  Everything was truly in ruin.  Homes and roads were either destroyed or encased in ice.  Corpses stood as cold silhouettes in the snow.  Most glaringly, the queen had shut herself up in her manor with a thick wall of ice keeping the outside world at bay, and what was left of her guard now possessed the statues that were scattered across the broken civilization—things that had once been a source of art and beauty turned to objects of surveillance and destruction.</p><p>It was too late to go back.  The Florist missed and loved her neighbors, but there were graver things at play.  Alone, she couldn’t stand against anyone, she would not bow to that Shadow, and admittedly, she did owe much to the swamp spirits.  These depths were where she belonged now.</p><p>Hiding in the reeds, she watched the shores of the swamp carefully.  She couldn’t manipulate the sludge to her will like the spirits could, but the plants themselves made for a fine substitute.  Enough so that she was occasionally trusted to keep watch above the surface for any unwanted guests.  A single flower with thick, pink petals tipped white caught her eye.</p><p>She plucked the water lily and stuck it in her matted locks of hair, gazing at the muck and mire she called home.    </p>
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